Part 4 (1/2)

”Beasts,” helpfully added the skillful Waziri chieftain.

ABeasts! Just so. What think you will happen when the work here finishes, as it surely must do in a few moments?”

Although he'd primed the pump, Basuli was startled to hear even this much forethought retained in the mind of a great ape. Surely this was a leader among his own kind! ”I fear they may turn upon each other; and upon us. Our kind are fearless, Nendat, but we are few in number. Think you we could survive?”

Nendat thoughtfully picked an insect from his fur, sniffed it, then popped it into his muzzle. He face was a study in earnest but futile concentration.

”I'm sure you have thought of this as have I, and that you have arrived at the same conclusion, O wise Nendat,” Basuli went on, slyly.

”Doubtless,” offered the ape, to Basuli's secret amus.e.m.e.nt, ”but first I would hear your plan.”

”Well, then, if you ask. Opar has long been a sore spot in our jungle. And never before have so many of the great beasts been a.s.sembled in one place. Ill-tempered, angry great beasts, that might turn upon us unless we can find something more interesting for them to do. Your pardon for this plan, which I am sure you have already decided upon. To pa.s.s the word that now is the time to killa to wipe out Opar and the ugly little men, the evil priests! To kill, kill, kill and destroy, until Opar is no more!”

Nendat enthusiastically sprang to his feet, stomping and shouting, beating his breast with mighty paws, giving forth a drumming noise that made the Waziri chieftain's blood run cold. ”Kill!” the bull ape screamed. ”Kill, kill, kill!”

Work on the tunnel mouth stopped, as others took up the frenzied cry. Silently, Basuli cursed himself, for now the great heads were turning slowly, uneasily, and here and there the cough could be heard as the tawny-eyed beasts started to echo the cry. Basuli feared for the lives of his warriors-and- himself-as Tantor and Buto took up the challenge, each in his own language, yet a language common to the forest dwellers. Nendat continued to bay his approval of the plan still flailing his mighty chest and, indeed, turned reddened eyes upon Basuli, himself. Basuli, attempting to stave off disaster, waved his spear on high. ”To Opar,” he cried in the language of the great apes, ”to the evil place of Opar! Nendat will lead you. Kill - kill in Opar. Destroy, smash the green ones!”

Basuli stood behind his rock, a.s.segai at hand, as the thirst-maddened beasts flowed past him in a tide that seemed never-ending. Huge clouds of dust rose from the plain as the enraged animals first followed, then overtook, the prancing, bellowing figure of the leader of the great apes. He hoped his warriors had taken to the high ground, as they had been so carefully schooled to do, and, still bitterly cursing his own stupidity, vowed never again to treat an ape as an equal - a lesson Tarzan had learned long ago.

Jane Clayton lay, bound and helpless - and barely conscious - upon the altar of the sacrificial chamber of the priests of Opar. It was a place, this chamber, which would strike fear to the heart of the bravest man. Evil-smelling torches illuminated the scene and filled the cave-like room with smoke, despite the tunnels that led both into and out of it.

All was in readiness. The priests were filing in, taking their places, with the high priests standing near at hand. One held the bowl which was to receive the still-pulsating heart as it was torn from Lady Greystoke's breast, three more with urns which were designed to catch the blood from the victim which would be pa.s.sed among the monstrous descendants of the once-great race of Atlantis.

Jane Clayton, Lady Greystoke, mate of the mighty Tarzan, opened her eyes slowly and looked with horror at the setting. Where was her mate, he who never before had failed her? She turned her head the other way as far as her bonds would allow her, and met the icy smile and glittering eyes of Marda, or ”La,” who stood calmly, hands pressed to her breast. ”But why?” Jane whispered. ”Why? What purpose does it serve?” Her voice, faint as it was, was almost lost entirely amidst the wild chanting of the a.s.sembled Oparians, who were by now working themselves into a veritable frenzy of blood l.u.s.t.

The answer came, Jane realized with a shock, not in spoken words, but in words directly implanted into her brain by a mental force so powerful, so dripping with hatred, that she almost swooned again.

”You are his mate,” was the message. ”Were it not for you, he would have been mine. Heave this savage world after a desolate stay here that could have been pleasant were it not for Tarzan's love for you. And to leave it, I must have a sacrifice for thesea these animals. Who better than you, who has dared deprive Marda, a member of the aristocracy of her own planet?”

”Then,” Jane said aloud, not knowing how to communicate telepathically, ”I am glad to die, because I have known him and you have not.” She closed her eyes, her brain almost outraged by the venom that flowed from the Venusian woman.

Marda smiled cruelly, viciously, then called Glamo aboard the Silver Globe. There was no response. What was wrong? A gnarled little Oparian priest offered her the sacrificial obsidian blade, and she waved him contemptuously aside, frantically trying to establish mental contact with her own mate, Glamo. The little priest whimpered in frustration, but still she paid him no heed. Indeed, her ears were closed to the noise, else she might have heard the a.s.sembled priests urge the High Priest to kill, kill, killa to strike, and to tear the heart from La, the high priestess - the high Priestess who bad refused her duty!

A moan of antic.i.p.ation went up from the a.s.semblage as the High Priest backed off a step and raised the sacrificial blade on high.

”Glamo?” Marda tried again to reach him. ”Glamo? What has happened? You must answer me, Glamo!”

Tarzan little knew the forces he had unleashed when he'd pressed, unwittingly, it is true, the many studs on the golden belt that had been the property of Glamo. The Lord from Venus perhaps had a better idea. When Tarzan had seen the glittering eyes of Glamo fixed upon him, he had swiftly sprung to the kill, his knife at the Venusian's throat.

”One word,” the mighty white ape commanded, ”and you die. One attempt to control me, and this blade shall surely saw through your neck, letting your life-blood loose!”

While Glamo might not have understood the words, for they were spoken in Lord Greystoke's native tongue, English, there was no mistaking the underlying intent. It was, both realized, something of an impa.s.se.

If Glamo attempted to speak, either physically or mentally, his life would be immediately forfeit. If there was no communication between the pair, Glamo's life would be likely forfeit anyway. Tarzan realized the situation as speedily as did the Venusian.

He pressed the keen blade even closer against the other's throat. ”Well,” he said, hesitantly.

Glamo sent out a small tentacle of thought. ”Well,” it said to the ape-man's mind. Slowly, insinuatingly, and (it must be told, truthfully) other thoughts followed the first. Untold horrors had been let loose by the belt. Doors that should never have been open in the Silver Globe had been opened by the unschooled, unskilled blunder. Strange beasts from far-flung corners of the universe had been let loose upon the domain of the Lord of the Jungle, beasts that could kill in mysterious ways, mysterious fas.h.i.+ons, ways that were undefendable by means of man or jungle beast. Even now, Tarzan's mate was stretched upon an Oparian altar, awaiting the sacrificial knife, and what was Tarzan going to do about that, now that he had frozen the controls, the controls that only Glamo could hope to unfreeze, unlock?

”You lie,” growled Tarzan, pressing his knife even tighter across Glamo's throat.

Wait!

Came the answering tendril of persuasive thought. See it through my eyes. Into the brain of Tarzan came picturesa pictures of unholy, completely alien monsters, so alien that his very brain cells recoiled from them. Viscous, oozing creatures which had burst within their cages aboard the Silver Globe at the impact of a foreign atmospheric pressure, pictures of many-legged or no-legged monsters that had died horribly upon their first exposure to an alien atmosphere. Others that had dropped ,from open hatches, some lizard-like, others plainly carnivorous, some with many legs, others with no legs at all, some armor-plated, multi-fanged, others deadly to the touch. One, a brilliant red, emanating deadly electrical impulses that killed any moving thing which might come within feet of it. They were spined, slimy, scaled, tanged, fast-moving and ponderous. They had one thing in common. All were deadly. And worst of all were the Followers. Yes, Glamo a.s.sured the ape-man through telepathy, these last creatures had been loosed, also. All had been captured for the Games of Venus. First, went on the mental imagery, convicted felons were heavily armed and offered to them and then, after the inevitable death of the animals of Venus, the beasts were pitted against each other in battles that often lasted for hundreds of days - as days were known here on Earth. Now, if Tarzan would onlya Tarzan would not! Tarzan picked up the body of the Venusian, threw it mightily against the closed door of the control room. Bones crunched, but metal bent, and Tarzan, without a backward glance at his enemy, buried his own body against the thin metal, forcing open the door. He sped down the circular corridor, once avoiding a hissing, giant-sized and well-fanged head that reared up in his dark path. The entry hatch was closed, but there was light from the pen that had held the Followers, and the door stood open.

A number of the monsters were still splas.h.i.+ng about-in their pit, and struck at Tarzan as he sped by, nearly gagging at the scent, but each tentacle recoiled as it neared him, and he remembered the golden belt about his middle with grat.i.tude. Down their slippery entryway he skidded and slid, gulping air in great inhalations as he gained the ground outside the Silver Globe. A giant purple creature, which had the appearance of a salamander mounted upon a hundred hairy legs, and as tall at the shoulder as Tarzan himself, stabbed futilely at the ape-man with its tail, which seemed to be barbed. The area around the Globe crawled with beasts which Tarzan had never seen before, and which even the Venusian's brain-probes hadn't prepared him to accept, but he evaded them all, darting to the sacrificial chamber.

He raced down the tunnel leading to the underground scene of many - of untold thousands upon thousands of blood sacrifices. He raced boldly into the vast room, lit by flickering torches thrust into holders against the stone walls.

Chaos reigned. ”La,” or Marda, as he now knew her to be truly named, was just crumpling under the high priest's knife. He held her pulsing heart, torn from her breast, aloft in his hand, uttering shrill squeals of pleasure from his foul, blood-spattered countenance. On the sacrificial dais, a roughly-hewn rock, Tarzan saw the form of his mate, Jane, and slas.h.i.+ng right and left, made his way to her. Others were killing, too!

Two of the Followers were at liberty, and under no restraining influence, were feeding greedily upon a score of priests, while with other tentacles they were fending off attacks from still other strange monsters let loose from the Silver Globe.

Tarzan swept his mate into his arms after severing her bonds with one mighty slash of his knife, a slash with which he followed through decapitating the high priest. Then, Jane swung up over his shoulder, the ape-man charged out the entrance, the entrance which led down into the very bowels of the earth, down the tunnel to the chasm, to the treasure vaults of Opar, which lay forever beyond the reach of the Oparians themselves! And the tunnel which was closed, as far as Tarzan now knew, by a vast rockslide. Could he leap the chasm with his mate on his shoulders? He didn't know. He'd hardly made it unenc.u.mbered. Behind him, he knew, lay death. Ahead? He trotted rapidly, hearing snuffling sounds behind him in the abysmal blackness, one hand guiding his body as he let fingers trail the rough-hewn walls. He stopped, panting for breath, and found himself engaged in fearsome combat with a creature from the Globe! He struck, struck again with his knife, then went to close hand-to-hand, fang-to-fang combat. Something like a giant claw raked his back as the beast, whatever it was, fell dead under his fierce attack. Tarzan, in the dark, beat his chest and let out the fearful victory cry of the bull ape! Its fearful sound echoed off the stone walls. Several other beasts pursuing the scent stopped and gave thought to the awesome noise, recommencing their pursuit only half-heartedly. Panting, Tarzan resumed his burden, Jane, and trotted on in the dark, now feeling ahead carefully for the bottomless pit.

Chapter XIII.

”The Escape from Opar”

N'GOGO heaved a great sigh of relief as the last of the beasts - Tantor, the elephant, Buto, the rhinoceros, Horta, the mad boar with the curved, slas.h.i.+ng tusks, Simba, the lion and all the others, including the leopard, the panther, the jackal and the hyena, the wild dog and the buffalo (fearsome, but predictable and, under certain circ.u.mstances, easily domesticated) and last, but by no means least, the mighty scampering, short-tempered and completely unpredictable great apes - disappeared from view.

Frankly, N'Gogo hadn't expected to live through this morning. There were several crumpled, lifeless forms upon the desert floor but, he was glad to note, none of them were the Waziri, Tarzan's warriors. So far, so good. He looked about anxiously for his chieftain, Basuli. That worthy shortly appeared from behind a huge boulder, little the worse for wear. Quickly, N'Gogo shouted unnecessary orders to the other Waziri, doing his best to maintain some semblance of discipline among the black warriors. Basuli waved a weary hand in acknowledgment, stood amongst his men, gazing at each in turn.

”We are here, O chieftain,” proudly acknowledged N'Gogo. While he was still shaking from the ma.s.sed charge of the beasts, he felt pride in not having broken and run, which had happened once before, to the shame of the entire tribe.

The heat of midday was upon the Waziri. ”Do all have water?” asked their waterless (thanks to the great ape) leader.

The answer came back ”yes,” in varying degrees of enthusiasm. N'Gogo offered his own water jug to his chieftain. Basuli was parched with thirst but haughtily declined. No chief ever showed weakness. N'Gogo then moved about the rest .of the tribe, lifting their bottles, shaking them tentatively, adding a bit from his own here and there until finally his own was dry. He held it rather conspicuously high, bottom up, to show that he had, like Basuli, like any great chieftain, shared his all with his men - nay, more than shared, given all. With a deprecating, dramatic, typically African gesture, he shook his water bottle once, then cast it away. He turned to Basuli, thrilling as the haughty chieftain nodded his approbation. Basuli nodded for N'Gogo to come closer. With great dignity, the pair consulted in undertones, completely inaudible to the rest of the warriors which made up the command.

”It will be needful,” Basuli said, ”for one to enter the tunnel in search of the Tarmangani, our leader, Tarzan. It is open now?”

N'Gogo nodded, not daring to speak aloud, for this was serious business.

”Good. There is a warrior braver than the rest? One you personally can trust to be brave above all else, a veritable panther among warriors? One who is silent, fierce, who knows no fear? If you know such a man, send him into the tunnel ahead of the rest of us. His instructions are to explore, to seek Tarzan, to fear nothing, to return if return is advisable, to stay and die if needed.”

N'Gogo pressed a fist to his breast to indicate he understood, then turned and coolly surveyed the rest of the little party. Stiffly, he walked down the line, shaking again each warrior's canteen, counting arrows, testing a.s.segai tips. Finally, reaching the end of the band, he dropped all his own equipment except a knife, placed a clenched fist to his brow in a manner that meant ”we who are about to diea” and plunged into the opening of the tunnel.

Basuli sighed. N'Gogo was such a child, so vain, yet - not without honor. He could have as easily ordered him into the tunnel, but this way was better. His stem, hawk-like eyes fixed the band of warriors in their positions.

”We follow,” he said, calmly, ”the brave N'Gogo in five minutes. Take water, and rest.”